Category: Uncorked Angst

As the nightfall of blogging closes in on me, I am more inclined to exhaling in private than gasping online, more willing to navigate through the bushes and backwaters than honking in the perpetual crescendo of the world wide web. The Internet of Things has taken over, but I am the prodigal come home to […]

Rose gold iPhone Fingerprints of feather Haiku they wrote. The bowels jettison Smokes of pot noodle Dawn, noon and dusk. Grumbling in the groin The brooding, wet cistern Agrees and sprays. Young eves frolic In the pale light of the beach My prostrate is misshapen. Base notes of cacti Fused with camel dung Oil has […]

It’s been a while since the nightingales sang in the darkness, fidgeting on boughs swaying in the night-wind. It’s been a while since the fingers splattered on the keyboard like an impromptu rain. There is this dike thin as rice paper, holding back rivulets of waste and repentance that I dare not let loose on […]

Like a pony fettered to a carousel, I’ve been travelling miles after circular miles and yet not have moved a millimetre from the pole I am suspended. I am not in charge of this motion, nor do I control this stasis. I cannot even choose the music or the riders that cling to my back […]

I have taken a vow of abstinence from the book market, which since the advent of blogging has begun resembling a fish market where everyone is hollering to sell his dreams and nightmares alike. The social media is bursting at the seams with ‘authors’ ready to slap in your face their hourly litter at the […]

As Argentine football hung by a tenuous gossamer, clinging to the last few blinks of life, he stooped over the ball before the free-kick, aware of the cosmic weight of the moment. ‘It’s now or it’s never,’ intoned the commentator, and no one knew this better than Lionel Messi. Redemption was only a kick of […]

As I hover metaphysically over Estádio Nacional de Brasília, along with the cameras that keep criss-crossing and snooping in the field, my daughter asks me a question in the middle of the simmering knockout fixture between La Albiceleste and Les Diables Rouges. She pops it innocuously enough while a troika of Belgians are busy stamping […]